Thanksgiving
by Tiny1217
Summary: Is it possible to write a Thanksgiving hurt/comfort story about two enemies? Read on to find out...


He woke up with a start, shivering.

_Where am I?_

All Corporal Peter Newkirk could remember was being hit over the head with something from behind. _Ahh, no wonder my head hurts_. _I'm...tied to a tree?_ He tried to move his arms in vain. Not only were his wrists tied to the tree, but a rope was wound around his body also.

It was too dark to see very much. Suddenly, he heard a noise from next to him.

"Newkirk! What are you doing here?"

"Colonel...Klink?!"

"Yes, that's right."

"How...where are we? Why are we both tied up?"

"I don't know. I only know I was leaving the Hofbrau quite late, when I saw someone being dragged around a corner--I guess that was you--and that's the last thing I remember. How on Earth did you get there, anyway? You should know by now that no one ever escapes from Stalag 13. And where did you get those clothes?"

_Oh no. How do I answer this? _

Newkirk's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Well, well, well. Awake, are we?" The stranger followed this sentence with a kick to Newkirk's leg.

"Who are you?!" demanded Newkirk.

"Why, you don't remember? Funny, I think of both of you every day."

Both Klink and Newkirk stared at him blankly, still not having the slightest idea of who he was.

"My name's Mueller. You don't remember me, do you, Klink? Ah, of course not. Sitting there in your precious little stalag, day in and day out, while some of us risk our lives to deal with animals like Newkirk here and then you get paid to keep those little rats alive.

"I was the man in line for the position of running your stalag...but then General Burkhalter chose you! You, of all people! The cowardly solider, the person who barely made it through school... because he thought YOU were more suited for the job. More suited for coddling the little Allied rats, if you ask me. Almost no deaths. And how you keep your little no-escape record going...I hardly see how that can be real. Of course, with your romance with the general's sister, who knows what really happens and what gets recorded..."

"There has never been a successful escape from Stalag Thirteen."

"Of course not, idiot."

"But...what do you want with me? What do you want with Newkirk?"

"Ah, yes, him. You see, since I never got a pampered position like yours, I had to risk my neck like everyone else. And to watch some of those pigs kill us day after day and then be caught and then sent to live in a prison camp instead of being shot on sight--well, that kind of frustration wears on a person after awhile.

"One night, I was assigned to patrol a particular area when I saw an English plane that had been shot down. Of course, I knew the little devils on it would try to escape, so I went over to investigate...when someone grabbed me and my gun from behind. I fought him, of course, and he grabbed my gun and shot me in the hip. I yelled for help from the others that were with me. The man who had shot me paused for a minute and looked at me while I writhed on the ground in pain. It was just long enough that I got a good look at his face before he heard my companions coming and ran. I never forgot that face...especially because I will never walk without a limp again. I later heard those men from that plane had been sent to your prison camp.

"So you see, Klink, you are partially responsible for me being there that night, and, therefore my demise as a soldier." He paused to pull a flask of alcohol from his pocket.

"My family blames my problems on alcohol...and I suppose, in a way, that could have shortened my career. But they don't realize the kind of pain I had to endure from my hip wound for so long.

"I've seen your prisoners on work detail before. It only took a few questions to find out what that one's name was. So when I saw him there, alone, last night, no doubt trying to escape your little 'escape proof' camp, I knew right away my chance for revenge had come. It's ironic, really...it was around this time of year he shot me, actually.

"But then...then...I saw you, drinking in the corner, flirting with that girl who never even looks at me. And I also thought about how much I also hate you, for having taken my only chance at success. So you see, even though I was waiting for Newkirk...I didn't mind laying my hands on you, either. Besides, I couldn't exactly leave any witnesses, now, could I?"

* * *

_It's unlike Newkirk to not come back from a mission_.

Colonel Robert Hogan pondered what could have happened to delay Newkirk. Was he hiding somewhere to avoid capture? Delayed for some reason? Or...could the Gestapo have captured him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the main area, so he walked out to see what the others were arguing about--

"Colonel, I must protest. These uncultured barbarians insist I waste what little food we have cooking American dishes for their Thanksgiving Day."

Hogan was about to reply when the door slammed open and Schultz came in.

"Everybody out for roll call!"

"Schultz..."

"What is it, Colonel Hogan? Wait, everybody **is** here, aren't they?"

"Well, you see, Newkirk hasn't come back yet..."

"From where? Wait...I don't want to know. But I must report this to Colonel Klink...as soon as he gets back."

"He's not here, Schultz?"

"No, for some reason he never came back last night."

"So you mean you don't know what happened to him?"

"Ahh, he probably found a pretty fraulein or drank too much or something. I'm sure he'll be back soon. In the meantime, I don't mind not being assigned to guard duty."

"What do you think is going on with Klink, Colonel?" said LeBeau.

"I don't know," replied Colonel Hogan, "but I don't have time to worry about him now...right now I'm more worried about Newkirk."

* * *

The sun finally came up, gradually warming the freezing men tied to two trees in the woods in the middle of Germany. Newkirk woke up shivering again. _Must__ have dozed off._ It was so cold, sitting on the ground in November. He tried to wiggle around in the ropes to see if he could work his way loose.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Their captor appeared, holding a gun on them.

* * *

Later that afternoon, a light snow began to fall. Mueller was nowhere in sight, so the two began in ernest once again to see if they could work the ropes loose. Newkirk began attempting to wiggle the knife he carried in the side of his boot out, in hopes he could find a way to move it towards his hands. Klink noticed and began to wonder where Newkirk got that knife from...

It took over a hour, but gradually he managed to kick it towards his hands, and finally to loosen the ropes enough to grab the knife and cut his hands loose. He proceeded to cut Klink loose, just as he heard a voice behind him.

"Ahh. The little English rat tries to escape again."

Newkirk spun around, only to face Muller, who had a gun trained on him.

"Well, you won't be able to do it this time."

As if through a haze, Klink watched as the gun went off...and a bullet went into Newkirk's side. As if by instinct, he lunged at Mueller, who managed to pull the trigger before having the gun knocked out of his hand by Klink. Newkirk, who was flat on the ground clutching his side, noticed a glint of metal next to him--_the __gun!_

_It would be too dangerous to shoot from here...I might hit Klink..._

Newkirk crawled to his feet and staggered over, just as Mueller was on top of Klink, attempting to strangle him. Newkirk aimed the gun and pulled the trigger, killing Mueller. Klink crawled out from under Mueller, vaguely registering that his arm was bleeding. Newkirk stood over Mueller's body, holding the gun and his side, which was bleeding heavily.

_It's ironic_, he though. _In a way, I'm finishing what I started so long ago. And here I thought it was a good thing that I didn't kill him then._

At this point, Newkirk slumped to the ground.

"Newkirk?" Klink stumbled over to where Newkirk was laying. _He could have let Mueller kill me and tried to get away himself_...

Newkirk was unresponsive. Klink quickly tore Mueller's shirt off of him and held it to Newkirk's side to stop the bleeding.

_Now for my arm. _Klink examined his arm wound. It appeared as though the bullet had only grazed him. He proceeded to bandage it as tight as possible.

"Newkirk? Newkirk, wake up," Klink said, tapping Newkirk's cheek lightly. Newkirk moaned and moved slightly.

"Are you okay?"

"Mmm."

"I'm going to go look if Mueller had a car out here. He had to have brought us here somehow."

Klink searched the heavily wooded area until he found a car, luckily with the key still in it.

Not so lucky, however, was the fact the engine would not start, due to being out of fuel.

_So that's why Mueller didn't go far._

Klink walked back to where Newkirk was laying.

"Newkirk?" Klink shook him lightly. "Are you okay?"

"Side hurts."

_I don't doubt it. He doesn't__ look very good._

"Listen, the car is out of fuel, so we'll have to walk. Do you think you can make it? I can't let you lying here...you'll freeze to death... especially with this snow falling."

"Mmm, can try."

"Okay, I'll try to help you up."

It was a painful process for both of them--as trying to pull someone up from the ground is rather painful with a bullet wound in one's arm--but finally Newkirk was on his feet.

They started forward. It was slow going, with Klink trying to help Newkirk along without hurting his injured arm.

* * *

"Colonel Hogan, I got in contact with London."

"And?"

"They confirmed that Newkirk did indeed meet up with that contact last night, but that they left before he did. You don't think he could have been captured on the way back or something, do you?"

"I..."

Hogan's sentence was interrupted by shouting in French...something about how not to cook a turkey... presumably, another argument on what kind of food they'd be having the next day...

* * *

_Another tree root to trip over in the dark. So__ thirsty. When was the last time I had water? Last night? I can only imagine how thirsty Newkirk probably is, with all that blood loss. We don't dare eat snow though... we're too cold already. _

They stopped for a minute to rest.

Klink propped Newkirk against a tree to rest. They were both shivering, but Newkirk felt warm at the same time._ Oh no. He's getting a fever. _

"Why?"

"What do you mean, 'Why?'"

"Why are you dragging me along like this? I am your prisoner, you know. You could have just left me there."

Klink was not sure what to say for a moment. _You _**are**_ the enemy. So why _**am**_ I doing this? _

"We better keep moving. It's too cold to sit around long."

They continued on through the night, having to stop quite often along the way. Finally, a tiny bit of sunlight began to peek over the horizon. Klink was having to almost carry Newkirk at this point and was definitely not paying attention to his surroundings, when they stumbled into a clearing...and there, in the distance, was Stalag Thirteen. Klink stopped.

"We made it," Newkirk whispered.

Klink paused, staring into the distance. _Today__ is the last Thursday in November_, Klink thought. _The day the Americans celebrate as Thanksgiving. I wonder what kind of stupidity Hogan will come up with regarding it, _he thought with a smile. _Newkirk is right, though, by all rights I could have left him out there. But...I could never become what Mueller did._

By this time, some of Stalag Thirteen's guards saw them and came running.

"Herr Kommandant, you are hurt!"

"Yes, but he is hurt worse."

_Perhaps_, thought Newkirk, _there is something to the tradition of Thanksgiving after all..._

THE END

Inspired by Abracadebra's hurt/comfort challenge (to write a hurt/comfort story of under 5,000 words before the end of December), my own idea to create a hurt/comfort Thanksgiving story, and CrazyFM's idea for me to create a Thanksgiving hurt/comfort story using Klink and Newkirk. I think this story perhaps turned into more of a drama, but I hope you enjoyed. :)


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